The Story of the Astari
by SteveAtwater
Summary: This is a story based on the downloadable app Godus. It deals not with the people the player is the god of, but the opposing Astari religion, and how it and its people came to be.
1. And the Gods Made Love

…and the gods made love.

And out of the nothingness that existed erupted a massive explosion. A brand new creation. Something awe-inspiring, something amazing, something not seen before. Something infinite and yet measurable. Something singular and yet plural. Something new and yet incredibly old.

And the gods made love.

And suns popped into being, surrounded by planets, by comets, meteors, other suns. And collisions came about despite the vastness of space. And a molten rock circled a sun, slowly cooling as atoms combined in its atmosphere.

And the gods made love.

Another rock slammed into this rock, carrying away some of its' content before settling down, circling the rock in turn, an orbital planet to an orbital planet of this sun. The two weathered the storm of other space debris together as they cooled down, one world becoming barren, lifeless, and largely uninteresting while the other formed oceans, continents, and overall settled down into a far more interesting form.

And the gods made love.

Small creatures formed, single-celled unable to think or move much, but able to breed, able to reproduce, able to act in at least some way. And these creatures lived in an atmosphere without oxygen, until oxygen came, killing many of them off.

And the gods made love.

And some unkilled developed the ability to live, nay, thrive within the newly oxygenated world. And these developed beyond a single cell to have multiple cells working in tandem with one another. These lived in the water, not venturing onto land because there was plenty of space in the ocean.

And the gods made love.

And life exploded through the seas, growing more and more massive, with hundreds, thousands, millions of cells working together within one organism. The overcrowding lead to competition, so some of course got out; first plants, colonizing the land, and then animals, following the food onto dry land. Things were good, and the earth and seas were plentiful with life. But then something happened. What it was is unknown, but it was gigantic. Nearly everything died, and what was left was a very small portion of what had come before. Very little sea life was left, and almost no land life was allowed to continue its existence. Things were bad on the small planet.

And the gods made love.

And life exploded again, this time in different, ever-more-gigantic forms. Insects, previously the masters of the land domain, were shoved out by the newer, bigger, badder reptiles. Massive monsters that could seemingly conquer anything, monsters bigger than had ever been seen before, with humongous teeth and claws and armor. Gigantic animals that seemed nigh-unstoppable, that stomped on the ground and soared through the air. Monsters whose dominance on land was only equaled by similarly gigantic sea creatures that represented the old guard. This time, life could not fail. These were truly the masters of the world.

And the meteor came, raising up gigantic clouds of dust, causing volcanic eruptions, and generally raising enough havoc to completely block out the sun. For one thing the masters had not counted on was that giant beings need giant amounts of food, and if there is no sun, the food can't grow, and if the food can't grow, the monsters can't eat, and if the monsters can't eat…

And the gods made love.

And along came the mammalian takeover. These learned from the past, refraining from going gigantic and instead staying a quite large, but also quite manageable size. Most would be able to find food, but wouldn't need enormous expanses. From these species various champions arose, until after several millions of years, one spindly-legged, semi-hairless descendant of apes stood astride the world, having conquered it not with its own brute force but with force created by its' mind. It flew, rode, and swam in metal machines created by more metal machines made by more machines still; it barely made anything with its own hands, really; and yet this species had conquered all. So much so, in fact, that only one species was left for it to conquer: itself.

So they did, waging war upon war. First with spears and clubs, then with arrows and swords, then with bullets and bayonets, and finally with bombs and missiles. And finally it happened; the human race managed to drive itself to the brink of extinction, along with every other species on earth.

And the gods did not make love.


	2. Long Hot Summer Night

Instead, the gods were in divorce court.

Despite making love frequently, their love had soured. Instead of love, all they felt for each other was an apathetic lust. Sooner or later, something had to give, and it had. As such, they were in godly divorce court, battling for custody over the parts of the universe they had ruled over in tandem for the last few billion years.

As usual, divorce court was hell. The two lovers, formerly friends, soon turned into enemies, fighting each other over custody of planets they had never cared much for before.

On one of these planets, a young man crawled from the radioactive rubble of his home. Somehow still alive, he headed for the bomb shelter on the outskirts of town and found a few other survivors.

This man's name was Joe Astari, and he soon became the leader of the group. This group ventured forth, looking for an untouched place to live. Soon, they found an island just off the coast, and they built a small civilization there.

As time went on, the group grew, and generations passed as they cultivated the land. As the new climate of the world settled, it happened that the island was located in a beautiful part with excellent rainfall, sunlight, and no winters whatsoever. The isle was truly a paradise.

Time went by, and the Astari developed their own religion and rules of law. Because food was plentiful and provided by the land, all anyone had to do was go out each day and harvest some in order to feed the people. A religion was developed, along with statues and temples to show the god's power. This god granted them strength, granted them speed, and granted them power. The only command that their god made was that they worship him and that they wear wooden, tiki-like masks to show their love of him. The individualistic tribe became one under the god's rule, able to simultaneously be individuals and yet all hold the same opinions, think the same thoughts, act the same acts, and live the same lives.

They were good lives, though. Lives free from peril, from strife, from problems. For the Astari were happy within their abodes. Their land was fertile, their food was good, their lives were comfortable, and all in all there was nothing to complain about. On occasion, of course, there were problems; sometimes an Astari would kill another one, sometimes there was thievery and violence, but despite minor problems, the society was a healthy, happy one.

At least, it was until the divorce proceedings wrapped up. The gods were ordered to split their possessions evenly. And so it was that the small blue planet was left to one god, who came and looked upon it at an inopportune moment. For you see, like all societies, the Astari had a form of justice. In this case, they had found a man and a woman guilty of killing another man–the woman's husband–and both had been sentenced to death. This death sentence involved stripping the guilty of their masks, exiling them from their religion; sailing out beyond the island with a canoe and throwing the guilty parties into the water, exiling them from their home; and then rowing back and leaving them to drown, exiling them from their lives.

So this was done. But the drowning did not take, for at this moment the god came back, and he just so happened to come back at the very spot where the two were drowning. The god then extended the land to them, and the two found their way to dry land and from there to a beach, where they proceeded to start their own settlement, one with a god who would take care of them even if they had killed a man.


	3. Burning of the Midnight Lamp

The exiles' new civilization began to grow on a beach of an island near where the Astari lived. The Astari saw this, and observed, but did not act. After all, if the exiles had reached land, it must have been the will of their god, who always acted for their best wishes. After all, had their god not given them an island, and fruit trees, and shelter? Had he not given them their very own Eden, where they could live as individuals who all acted the same? Of course he had. And of course the exiles were not to be feared; at worst, they should be laughed at for their silly refusal to accept the one true god. The exiles were not a problem at all.

As time went by, the civilization grew, and soon expanded their range from the beach to the thicker grass and trees farther into the island. The Astari observed this, but were unworried. After all, this was surely just evidence of how the exiled people wanted back into the Astari society. The expansion of range was just a futile attempt to find an Eden of their own to live in. And of course, no Eden would be found; no place could measure up to the proud homeland of the Astari. What these new locals deserved, more than anything, was mockery.

So, even as the colony grew larger and stronger, the Astari came by and mocked. They did so daily, only leaving when they were given a sign to leave; the ground would shift beneath their feet, and they would head home. After all, if the ground is shifting, obviously god is simply saying that the time for mockery is finished, and home is where they should return to. Although this was a more direct action than they were used to from their god, the Astari abided by it; after all, god must be obeyed by each individual as he sees fit so long as it is done in a way approved of by the greater group for the greater good.

Generations went by, and soon the neighboring island was colonized along the coast. There was no place for the Astari to land without immediately being amongst the unclean children of the exiles. At this point, the Astari realized that mockery was not the correct way to show their righteousness. Rather, the correct way would be through a demonstration of their holiness. As such, the Astari instead began converting all who were willing to their religion. While it was slow going, they did get some converts; the first month, three arrived and joined their group, and at the end of the second month, they had nine more new Astari.

This was expected, of course. For how could anyone possibly worship a false religion once they saw the Astari god? This god was good, this god is good, this god will always be good. This god is loving and peaceful. This god gave them a brave new world full of everything they needed to survive. And so of course the Astari were happy. Unlike other people, their god was always there for them, with plentiful food and comfortable lodging. All they had to do was occasionally collect the food and fortify their homes, and then there would be no problems for them at all. This god demanded nothing from them, took nothing from them, and provided them with everything. Perhaps the world beyond the island was considered harsh and inhospitable, but that was just further proof that theirs was the only true god. Those on the other island, the maskless exiles...pah! They had to scrape a living out of the land. They had to build their own homes and constantly protect them from the winds, from the animals, from the wild. They had to build fields and scare away parasites. Not so for the Astari. God loved them.

And, as usual, the Astari would show their belief at the end of the month with their day-long festival to worship god.


	4. House Burning Down

It happened at the festival.

The Astari were partying hard, as they were wont to do, when tragedy struck. Several of them dropped down dead and a few trees burst into flames. The flames were quickly put out, but this occurrence shook the Astari to their core. The wrath of god had struck, but for what reason they knew not.

For the next few days, the Astari prayed harder. They were devout to their god. They worshipped him dearly. But no dice; the trees burned again, a pox came upon their land, and more Astari dropped dead. Some died when their masks caught on fire and burned them to death, and some died in the swamp, and some died from the touch of god, but no matter what, their were deaths. This was repeated a third time approximately halfway through the lunar cycle, with another ring of deaths and many trees burning down.

By the time they held the next monthly festival, only 171 citizens of Astariville were left. 28 of them had died in the godly rage; 3 of them had left for the other island of their own accord. And they might have had the right idea, as the godly punishment was still coming down. The swamps grew larger, drowning people; most of the fruit trees burned down, causing a famine; and the Astari continued to drop like flies when the finger of god crushed them like bugs.

Near the middle of the month, only 141 were left, with all of the lost thirty being deaths at the hands of god. At this point, the Astari were divided for perhaps the first time in their history. Some wanted to leave the island, as their god had obviously abandoned them. Others wanted to stay, and worship harder to ensure that their god would come back. The fight went back and forth and back and forth in the main hall of the main settlement.

And then it happened.

* * *

Man has always feared death from above.

Why this is, is unknown. Perhaps it comes from a deeply ingrained fear of carnivores that pounce so that the last thing you see is one descending towards you, all claws and teeth. Perhaps it comes from an understanding that the higher ground is often tactically more valuable. Perhaps it just comes from the realization that the highest point of the body is also the weakest and the most valuable.

Whatever it is, death from above has always been scary. And who can argue otherwise? Throughout the history of mankind, death has regularly come from above. Lightning strikes, hurricanes, hail; all have been deadly and have come from the skies. Volcanoes have blasted out magma rains that drop onto bodies, burning them away instantaneously. And if natural causes aren't enough, there's always humanity. From castles upon hilltops, rains of arrows have flown, causing massive losses to armies. From those same castles, boiling oil drops down to guard the entryway. Later on, cannons blast into the sky, only for the cannonballs to rain down far away, wreaking havoc. Then come the aeroplanes and their bombing blitzes, raining down death upon London, Dresden, Nanking, Hiroshima, Vietnam, Cambodia, Iraq, Israel.

And finally, the most recent and most hellish source of death from above: the Mushroom War. The one that created this whole mess. The one that proved that the gods did not care about their creations.

Is it any wonder that man looks to the sky to plead to his gods? Is it any wonder that the heavens seem to always be watching? Is it any wonder that the final death of earth will eventually come from the sun in the sky?

Man has always feared death from above.

* * *

The sky lit up as the meteor streaked towards the ground. It impacted just outside the settlement. While in no way as large or horrific as the one that killed the dinosaurs–in fact, all things considered, the explosion was incredibly weak–it was enough to set the surrounding trees and the settlement on fire. The Astari ran outside to try and stop the flames, and most of them ended up being caught on fire themselves, regardless of whether they were wearing their masks or had the foresight to remove them. The burning victims stumbled around outside, screaming for relief. None was forthcoming, though, and all of them ran around on fire.

All of them died. Some died of falling into the swamp; some died of smoke inhalation; but most, most died of burning to death. And with all the Astari dead, there was no chance to douse the flames. The temple, the settlement, the entire village; all would burn down.

But they didn't. The flames were extinguished soon enough. This wasn't by an act of God, however; as soon as the meteor hit, the ruler of the world sat back and started tending to his people. Rather, it was random chance, a freak rainstorm, that saved the village. The rain came down and doused the flames, saving the settlement and the surrounding abodes, even if no trees were left standing.

And once the flames were out and the rain had stopped, two figures stumbled out of the settlement. Two cowardly Astari, who had stayed inside throughout the whole ordeal. Two people, who had somehow managed to survive the meteoric wrath, the fire, and the deaths of all their comrades. These two stumbled out into the daylight and looked around.

All they saw was destruction. The trees which had once burn fruit were now completely burned down to matchsticks. The settlement which had provided shelter had holes in its wall, its entryway blackened with smoke, and scorch marks covering the whole outside. And the rest of the Astari, the other remaining 139, lay on the ground dead.

The Astari looked up, up at the cold, soulless sky. They stared at the still lingering smoke heavy with human fat and realized that God was not there. They realized that God either no longer loved them, or he had never loved them in the first place, fattening them up for slaughter, or that all they had taken for the work of God was really their own work, and their entire society, system, civilization was one big lie.

They looked up at the sky and saw that God did not love them. And they shivered in the cold wind as they headed to the adobe with the least amount of damage. Tomorrow would be a new day, and they would decided on a survival plan then. Whatever they did, they were still standing, and they'd live on.

Even in the face of Armageddon. They would live on.

* * *

**A/N: Yes, I made some _Watchmen_ references there at the end. What can I say? It's a good comic.**


End file.
